


Of fur and fangs

by Akwolfgrl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Sex, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Canon Rewrite, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rewrite, Slow Burn, Smut, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Sherlock, Werewolf John Watson, Witch Molly Hooper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akwolfgrl/pseuds/Akwolfgrl
Summary: John Watson is a lone wolf fresh back from war where he mets Sherlock Holmes a vampier who turns out to be his fated mate. Join them as they slove cases, fall in love and try not to be killed by the black with who goes by the name Moriaty.Updates random Tuesday's(Hopeful every or every other week)
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is a reworking/rewirteing of my other now deleted story by the name of werewolves and vampires. I hope its much better now! I took bits and pices of other supernatural storys and put my own spin on things.   
> Vampiers are based on lyndsy sands  
> Werewolves are based on Patricia briggs  
> But they are a bit differnt then them.   
> Betaed by my firneds stromsong and nerdy_panda_wirtes. Hope u enjoy!

John stepped out of his therapist office more frustrated than when he first entered. As nice as she seemed, his therapist, Ella, wasn't very helpful. She was fully human and had never seen the horrors of war, had never tasted blood on her lips, the surge of adrenaline, or had gun powder coating her hands. She had never cut open a fresh faced boy too young to be in this war and pick out bits and pieces that didn't belong there. She had never taken a life. She never had to lay there as her blood seeped out onto the sand while silver burned in her veins praying to Máni to let you live. It felt wrong telling her about the war, about being a werewolf when she couldn’t even possibly begin to relate. The wolf agreed with him - no need to be airing everything out to strangers.

These useless therapy sessions were required for his pension, which was required until he found a job. However, who the hell would hire a PTSD lone werewolf in London, no smart person would be sane enough to do so. If he hadn't left his old pack he would have a support system to fall back on. John had given that up in order to pursue a career in the army. How had his life gotten so far off track? 

He continued to walk forward with a slight limp. His leg would be healed probably in the next day or so. Provided he ate a decent meal. Which was unlikely going by the state of his finances. At least most people wouldn't notice the limp. Thankfully, John and his wolf were in agreement about showing weakness; it left them vulnerable. Not that there was anything likely to attack him, even if they both were spoiling for a good adrenaline rush. This was modern day London after all - what did he have to fear from a mugger? 

John continued along down the street. He really didn’t want to go back to his dreadful bed-sit. It was tiny, cramped, and smelled of mold, stale cigarettes, human waste, and a touch of meth. He hadn't even bothered marking the bed sit as his territory.

🐾<> 🐾

Mike Stanford spied a familiar figure walking towards him, one he hadn't seen in years. Flashes appeared in his mind as his mostly trivial gift of future sight - mostly helpful to know how bad traffic would be and other mundane but useful things; he never forgot a birthday or anniversary ever - began to show him glimpses of John and Sherlock. Mike saw them running together down an alley, them flirting over a body, John pinning the vampire to the floor, them kissing; countless flashes of them laughing together - Sherlock and John looking happier than he had ever seen. He also saw what would happen if he didn’t do something. Both of them dead within the week. John would jump off a bridge and Sherlock would die from poison. Mike couldn't, in good conscience, let that happen. A vision like this came about once in a lifetime. 

“John! John Watson, is that you?“ He called out, grabbing the other man’s attention. Mike watched John cock his head to the side with a brief look of puzzlement, sniffing the air before his face lit up with recognition.

“Mike? Mike Stanford?” John spoke, looking surprised.

“Yup, that’s me. I know, I got fat,” Mike laughed and patted his belly fondly, he had been a skinny thing before meeting his dear wife.

“No, no you look fine,” John tried to protest.

“It's my lunch wanna join me? My treat, I still owe you after all. Let's see if I can out eat you now,“ Mike said jokingly in an attempt to get John to join him and warm up enough to start up a conversation with him. He didn't want to just drag John to Bart’s. He could be stubborn, he'd dig his heels in and refuse to budge. It wasn't like he could tell John he had a vision, his future sight wasn't very useful, but he still remembered the haunted look in his grandmum's eyes from when she had been used and abused by the government for her abilities. 

Mike knew Sherlock would be dragging John along with him on his crazy cases. Lord knows that man needed someone to watch his back. 

They headed towards a small cafe.

“What can I get you guys today?" A waiter asked.

They ordered their meals and Mike watched his old friend. His blonde hair was the same, albeit shorter. His eyes were still dark blue with a hazel ring, but he looked tired and haunted. He remembered a time where John had an easy grin, and his eyes were less haunted.

“Heard you were in Afghanistan getting shot at. What happened?" Mike asked, getting impatient watching John pick at his sandwich. 

“I got shot,” his voice was tight and final. 

Mike winced, he should have avoided that subject. “So are you staying in London?“ 

“Yes, but not for much longer. Army pension doesn't pay much and London's so expensive.” Mike heard him sigh. 

“What about Harry or your old pack? Couldn't they help?" Mike asked, but he had a feeling he knew the answer.

“Harry's well, Harry. She lives above the bar now. And the pack, well, I left the pack when I joined the army. Don't want to leave London, but don't have much choice,“ John said with a shrug. 

“Why not get a flatmate?” Mike started the conversation.

“Who would want me as a flatmate,“ John replied bitterly.

Mike let out a little chuckle. “You know you're not the first person to say that to me today," he baited the hook. 

“Who was the first?” John asked, looking curious.

Mike smiled as he caught John with the bait. Thus far everything was going just how he wanted it to. He had told no lies. John would have caught that right quick. Sherlock indeed had said the exact same thing to him just this morning. It was imperative that these two become flatmates and partners. Even if Mike had not seen the flashes of their long future together and their short ones apart, he still would’ve tried to set them up. He did enjoy playing cupid, he was rather good at it if he said so himself.

“Why don't I introduce you, he's hard to explain. He’ll probably still be at Bart’s." Mike paid for their meals. John's had been barely touched, just torn apart into pieces much like John's life at the moment.

He was worried about his old friend. It wasn't good to have a hungry werewolf wandering the streets. But if everything went well Mike wouldn't have to worry about Sherlock or John. Bonus, Molly would be able to move on from the crush she had on Sherlock, then Mike would be able to find her a nice fellow. Yes, things were looking well indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by my firneds stromsong and nerdy_panda_wirtes. Hope u enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes was quite busy figuring out a murder, and Molly kept interrupting him in her abysmal attempts to flirt. It was a distraction he didn't want nor need. While she could be quite useful at times, right now, she was merely a disturbance, that was trying his patience. 

“Listen,” Molly spoke nervously, “I was wondering- or maybe later- when you’re finished…”

“Are you wearing lipstick?” Sherlock asked, even though he could clearly see it. “You weren’t wearing it before.” It was clearly an attempt to get him to notice her more. Drawing attention to her lips to make him think about kissing her, however women weren't his area of interest if he was even interested in finding a relationship. He wouldn't sleep with someone just to keep them around no matter how useful. 

Molly blushed. “I, um, I refreshed it a bit.”

“Sorry, you were saying?” He replied, going back to the papers he was shifting through. He needed to stop her flirting but not chase her away entirely. She was almost as useful as Lestrade was,

“I was wondering if you would like to have coffee.” Molly asked, trying to bat her eyelashes but just looked like she had something in her eye. 

“All right.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as she perked up. “Two sugars, please. I'll be up stairs.” he walked away. Allowing her to think he simply misunderstood her question. He heard her soft reply.

“Okay.”

Sherlock headed up the stairs to the lab; he needed to check something, unfortunately he didn’t have his phone with him to text Lestrade his findings, but there were plenty of other people milling about. Sherlock could be quite charming if the situation called for it, however most of the time he didn't even bother. He took a seat and began to peer into the microscope. He heard faint footsteps, one a familiar heavy tread of Mike Stanford and another with a slight limp. They were headed this way, just in time too. Sherlock needed a phone.

“A bit different than in my time.” Hmm, a doctor most likely, a prospective flatmate or client.

Mike chuckled a bit. “You have no idea,"

They entered the room he was currently occupying. Sherlock glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye. He was short, probably about five feet seven inches. He was sturdy looking. His clothes hung off him in a way that suggested weight loss on top of it being ill-fitting and second-hand to begin with. The stranger had sandy hair and dark blueish grey eyes, central Heterochromia. His haircut and stance suggested the military, and his familiarity with Bart's suggested doctor. The way he carried his shoulder suggested he had been shot there. He had a bit of a wild look to him and the light scent of fur, suggesting he was a shifter of some sort. Since he was looking for a flatshare, Sherlock ruled out pack animals. He didn’t have cat-like eyes, so he ruled them out. There was no visible marking on his skin to give Sherlock a clue witch pointed to canine nine as most likely.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone?” Sherlock questioned. He knew that Mike had a tendency to forget it but he was hoping that Mike's friend would offer up his.

“Can't you just use the landline?” Mike replied, gesturing towards the one nearby.

“I prefer to text.” Sherlock felt like it was more time consuming to call, people often wanted to “chit chat” when talking on the phone. 

“No, sorry, must have left it at my desk," Mike apologized.

“Here, use mine.” The other man walked forward, his phone held in his outstretched hand.

“Thanks.” Sherlock took the phone, his fingertips brushing lightly against the other man's skin. Being a vampire gave him a greater sense of touch, you never fool a vampire with fake things such as money and silk, the texture was far too different.

“This is John Watson, an old friend of mine.” Mike announced, trying to smother a grin.

John had clearly been a surgeon, not just a doctor or medic. The tiny marks were from a scalpel; they were far too clean and smooth to be from anything else. His hands were tan but not above the wrist. There had been tiny microscopic nicks and cuts on his fingers. He could smell John better now. Sherlock could smell musk, mint, tea, and gunpowder. Perhaps a coyote shifter. It fits with the hair color and the fact he had been in a desert. Which desert remains to be seen. 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked taking a look at the phone in his hands while texting Lestrade.

The man frowned, his brows knitted close together. “Sorry?”

“Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock repeated himself as he used the phone to send Lestrade a text. The phone was a gift of sorts from John's brother, the marks on the cord hole showed signs of repeated abuse, then engaveing on the back showed a bitter end to a relationship and shame on how it ended. A normal person wouldn't give something so  _ sentimental  _ away unless it causes guilt and shame every time they used it. The phone was one of the latest yet affordable models on the market. A man like the one in front of him would treat such possession with such blatant disregard. His clothes while a bit shabby from a long life were well-kept. 

John looked over at Mike who looked quite smug. “Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you…”

Molly entered the room. John took a glance at her, Sherlock watched the man’s hackles rise and his nostrils flail just a bit. He must have had bad experiences with a black witch at some point. Molly was a grey witch meaning she did use body parts, such as blood, hair and skin, to fuel her spells. A black witch takes it one step further with torture and death. Molly brought over his cup of coffee. It wouldn't do to have his flatmate against Molly who was of use to him, such matters were messy and not in the interesting way, the fastest route to stop anything from occurring later was to show how meek Molly was.

“What happened to the lipstick?” Sherlock asked knowing that ringing up her failure to flirt with him would cause her to fluff with embarrassment and shame.

Molly looked down, her cheeks red her shoulders hunching inward trying to hide from everyone's gaze. “It wasn't working for me.'' Sherlock watched as the doctor's stance loosened a bit now that the potential threat was gone.

“Hmm, I thought it was an improvement. Your mouth is too small now.” He turned away from her. “How do you feel about the violin?”

John watched Molly until she left before turning his attention back to where it belonged. “I'm sorry what?“ hmm he was perhaps a bit slow which is to be expected from shifters but he was a doctor which meant he was at least marginally intelligent. 

“The violin. Sometimes I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I dont talk for days on end. I keep my blood in the crisper drawer. Would any of that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other,” that really wasn't the worst thing about himself, but it wouldn't do to chase him away so early, this one at least was a bit of a puzzle.

Sherlock watched John cock his head slightly to the left and it pushed his theory of coyote shifter further up in this list of possibilities. “Who said anything about flatmates?” John looked at him with suspicion and, strangely, amusement. “How did you know about Afghanistan?”

Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf. “I have my eye on a flat and between the both of us, we should be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening at 7 PM. I have to go. I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” Sherlock started to head out the door when John grabbed his wrist. Firm but gentle, almost hot against his cooler skin. His body tempter always ran on the lower end as did all vampires. 

“So that's it? I don't even know your name or where we’re meeting? I barely know anything about you,” John spoke, asking a valid question on his end. Sherlock had already spent too much time here and really needed to be on his way. 

“I know you’re a military doctor, invalid home from Afghanistan.” John visibley winced at the mention of that fact. “I know you have a brother that's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help. Possibly because of the drinking, but more likely because he left his wife. The name's Sherlock Holmes the address is 221b Baker Street. Must dash.” Sherlock winked, watching John's face flush slightly, the hand grasping Sherlock’s wrist let go. The taller man quickly turned away so as to not see the anger and or fear flash in the man's eyes. He quickly strode off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy and leave a comment below! They really help keep me wirteing to know ppl actarly read and enjoy my story.

John watched as his mate walked away, his scent lingering in the air. A heady addicting mix, John could smell - his dry cleaned clothes, his shampoo, his soap. He could smell the chemicals he had been working with. The scent of cold parchment and blood that marked him as a vampire. But most importantly, he could smell sandalwood, smoke, and cinnamon. He smelled like danger and adventure. It lingered and swirled about in the air. Mike's scent of Sunday roast faded in his mind. The wolf was pleased with the mate he chose. The vampire Sherlock was smart, interesting, and his eyes spoke of danger, of fire, of the thrill of the hunt, of blood and pain. He would make for a very fine mate for them. His wolf whined, desperate to chase after the tall vampire. 

“Yeah, he’s always like that.” Something about the tone in Mike’s voice told him Mike planned for this. Mike always had enjoyed playing cupid, John just never figured out how Mike was so good at it, that wasn't the only odd thing about his old friend; but to John's knowledge Mike was human.   
  
“You knew, didn’t you?” John asked, knowing the answer already.   
  
Mike chuckled. “Of course. You two need each other. Now you’re hooked and won’t be cutting off your nose because of spite.”   
  
John looked back at Mike tempted to argue for a moment, but Mike had a good point. After all, werewolves only had one mate. It would be stupid to ignore this opportunity.    
  
“I owe you one, Mike," John told his old friend, finally seeing a brighter future for himself.   
  
Mike just grinned. “Just invite me to the wedding.”   
  
John felt lighter than he had in quite a while. His wolf was feeling quite content, they had to head back for the last time to the small bedsit to pack before starting their new life. It took all of half an hour to pack all of his things, save for the laptop. It all fit in a duffel bag and a single box. His gun and RAMC mug carefully wrapped up in an old pair of socks. John would be sleeping as a wolf once again, as usual, it kept the nightmares at bay. The wolf was about here and now. The wolf cared little for the past unless it affected the present. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent trying to find out any and everything about his mate.   
  
“The science of deduction. Interesting title," John spoke aloud to the empty room. 

What the vampire had said back at Bart’s was beginning to make a bit more sense. John still had no idea how Sherlock did what he did. John shut his laptop down and packed it away. Taking off his clothes - they didn’t like the feel of the collar while they slept - and put the dirty clothes in a plastic bag before he shifted. His bones cracked and popped, his skin tore as his body forced itself into a new form. Fur erupted from his skin, covering his body. They shook the remaining pain away, he was used to the pain that came with a shift. On average, a born werewolf like himself takes about ten to fifteen minutes to shift. A werewolf that had been turned took longer since they had a tendency to resist the change and the pain that came with it. John and his wolf had both agreed to practice shifting over and over again until they were able to do it between five and seven minutes. They hated the way Harry had stared at them while they shifted. The ability had come in handy when they went to war. It didn't do them much good to be fast healers if they left themselves open and vulnerable for too long.    
  


🐾<> 🐾

  
The next morning, John grabbed his things and turned the keys over with reluctance, not because he enjoyed living there, but because he would have no back-up in store in case this went horribly wrong. But the wolf trusted that things would work out. After all, Sherlock was their mate.   
  
He spent the afternoon at Regents Park, scoping the place out. He could only smell one other werewolf, but it was very faint. This would make for a great spot on the three nights he had to spend as a wolf - lots of space to roam, things to sniff, maybe a few rabbits and birds to hunt. He left for Baker Street early, he needed to scan out the place first; check all exits and sniff for any potential threats. There was a Speedy’s next door and a fire escape out the back.   
  
Only non-human he could smell was a minor fae. They smelled of earth and dirt, of dying leaves, of gingerbread. It reminded John of autumn: of crisp leaves of gold and red, of warm cozy fires, and soft blankets. The scent was warm and inviting, but not tempting in a trap sort of way. The scent was far too subtle for that.

John watched the cab pull up with Sherlock inside. The wolf wanted to bask in his presence. Their mate. He looked even more gorgeous in the natural light.   
  
“Ah, you’re here already. Good.” Sherlock spoke in his deep voice. John watched as his eyes took in the duffle bag, box, and dry cleaners bag that held his dress uniform in.   
  
“This is a prime spot isn't it? Must be expensive.” John was starting to doubt this would work out.   
  


“The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, gives me a deal, owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death. I was able to help out.” Sherlock tipped his head towards the door.   
  
“So you stopped it?” John asked.   
  
“Oh, no. I ensured it,” Sherlock responded with a toothy grin, his fangs flashing in the light, tinged with a hint of red.    
  
John was a bit surprised. It was, to say the least, unexpected. What sort of man had the landlady been with? He was well used to death and those who deserved it. It didn't really matter, if the rent was a good deal and they got to live with their mate all was well enough. 

  
“Shall we?” Sherlock gestured to the door.   
  
“Oh, yes, let’s.” John responded. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys like it in the commets below. I'm a bit nervous about it.


End file.
